Sounds Like Shadows
by happycabbage75
Summary: Hell hath no fury like a dead woman scorned... And Sam and Dean just got in her way.
1. Chapter 1

**Sounds Like Shadows**

Summary: Hell hath no fury like a (dead) woman scorned… And Sam and Dean just got in her way.

Disclaimer: I got nothin'… You got nothin'… Nobody but the Hollywood types who clearly didn't learn about sharing in Kindergarten. September? We're supposed to wait until _late_ September?

Chapter One

* * *

"How about Batman?"

"Are we talking Adam West, Batman, Michael Keaton, Batman, or Val Kilmer, Batman?" Dean asked. They both knew better than to bother including George Clooney.

"Michael Keaton."

Dean cocked his head to one side, as if giving the problem serious thought. "Han Solo could beat Batman."

"You can't be serious," Sam frowned. He leaned back so he could see his brother despite the slightly cramped quarters inside the car. Dean's face was barely visible in the dashboard light, but Sam could still see the faint quirk of his brother's lips.

When you spent as much time in the car as they did, you ended up playing a lot of games that absolutely no one else on the planet would appreciate. Fantasy fight club was one of Dean's favorites. Sam thought he probably had dreams about Wyatt Earp (Kurt Russell, not Kevin Costner) vs. Robin Hood (_Anyone,_ not Kevin Costner).

"I'm serious," Dean nodded for emphasis. "Han Solo could take him."

"There's no way!" Sam shook his head in disbelief, both that he was still playing the game and that it was amusing… in a Dean sort of way.

"First of all, Han would fight dirty… And just look at their sidekicks. Are you telling me in a tag team match that Robin is going to come anywhere near Chewbacca?" Dean demanded. "Wookie would tear his arms off and beat him with them."

"Whoa, whoa," Sam said waving a hand. "Who said this was a tag team event?"

"I did," Dean replied as if that made all the sense in the world.

"You can't change the rules in the middle of the g…" Sam abruptly stopped talking as the car's engine coughed, sputtered and suddenly died.

Dean grunted as the steering died with it and he had to fight the car to the side of the road. She coasted to a halt, coughed one more time, shuddered and fell silent.

The sound of insects outside was suddenly loud, filling the night air. Trees lined both sides of the road, a few yards away from the pavement.

"See what happens when you change the rules?" Sam said.

"Shut up, Sam," Dean huffed irritably, throwing open the car door. Sam followed suit, meeting his brother at the back where he was rummaging through the trunk.

"Here," he said, handing him a flashlight. "Make yourself useful."

Sam popped the hood and propped it open, shining the flashlight through the engine compartment while Dean kept rummaging for his emergency tool kit.

"See anything?" Dean asked, coming to stand beside him. They both spent several minutes searching, trying to find the source of the problem. Finally Dean took the flashlight from him and leaned over the hood trying to get a better look. Dean knew the car like the back of his hand, so Sam gave him room to work.

"Have we passed any houses?"

The response was a muffled no, from Dean still neck deep in the engine.

Sam let his head fall back and looked up at the overcast sky. "Great. Just great." A long walk was not what he had been hoping for. Abruptly, so much so that he thought he'd suddenly gone deaf, the woods around them fell silent.

No. The bugs had gone silent.

"Dean?" Sam said, anxiously scanning the trees. "We may have a problem."

"You're telling me," Dean muttered, briefly raising his head from his work.

Sam barely noticed a vibration in the metal stand holding the hood open. Not even stopping to think he grabbed Dean around the waist and pulled him back, both brothers tumbling to the ground in the glare of the headlights.

"What are you _doing_?" Dean yelled, just as the prop came loose and the hood crashed closed. "Ok. That was weird."

"The bugs, Dean," Sam whispered. "Listen."

His brother was silent for several seconds, scanning along the tree line just as Sam had done. "Not good."

"Can you tell what's wrong with the car?" Sam asked quietly, following Dean as he edged away from the headlights. If there was something out there, they didn't need to be in the spotlight.

"There's nothing wrong as far as I can tell."

"Except for it being dead."

"Yeah, well there is that," Dean acknowledged. "You have a gun?"

Sam shook his head and Dean swore as they stopped, squatting beside the driver side door.

They both froze, seeing something flash past the headlights, moving so fast they couldn't quite make it out. It moved from one side of the road into the trees on the other side.

"What was _that_?" Dean hissed.

"I don't know, but we need to get out of here now."

"Back in the car," Dean urged. They both climbed in through the driver's side and Dean leaned against the steering wheel almost as if in prayer. "Come on, baby. Start for me. You know you want to."

The car sputtered briefly, but refused to start. To add insult to injury, the headlights promptly flickered once and died.

"Ok, now what?" Dean said.

Without warning, the windows behind them, on either side of the car, shattered, followed by the vague recognition of movement passing behind them. Sam cried out first, followed by Dean, at the undeniable sensation of claws raking across their shoulders.

Sam hunched forward, fighting the pain away. He saw Dean hunch forward again over the steering wheel, both with pain and in another attempt to start the car. The rear window shattered behind them and both brothers shrank down immediately, feeling the hissing of whatever it was as it streaked past them and crashed through the windshield, spraying them with glass.

"Out!" Dean ordered, and Sam immediately kicked open the door, keeping low to the ground. He knew Dean would be heading for the trunk and weapons and hurried in that direction. He brushed a hand through his hair as he crawled, hearing the tinkling of glass as it fell out onto the pavement. His shoulders were on fire and he could feel several distinct tracks across his back, reaching from one side to the other.

Dean was already turning the key in the lock to the trunk as Sam rounded the rear of the car. Dean started to lift it when the trunk was slammed closed, something pushing on it hard enough to dent the top. He fell back at the force of it.

"We've got to find some cover," Sam shouted.

Dean ignored him and turned the key in the lock again. He barely had a hand around the handle of one of the duffel bags when the trunk slammed down again. Sam grabbed for it frantically, trying to lessen the blow, but Dean stifled a cry and Sam knew his arm was hurt. The trunk hadn't been able to close, however, and Dean angrily threw the trunk open and dragged the duffel bag out.

"There," Dean pointed and Sam followed his direction seeing a light through the trees.

They both turned hearing noise on the other side of the road, almost like a huge animal crashing through the underbrush.

"Hoof it, Sam," Dean ordered, jabbing at his shoulder to urge him forward. "It's not going to give us a second chance."

Sam ran for all he was worth, listening for Dean behind him. Never pausing, he reached toward his brother and took the duffel bag from him. "Flashlight, Dean," he called, breathing hard. "I can't see anything."

Dean must have had the same idea. Even as Sam was saying it, the bobbing light of a flashlight appeared on the ground in front of them.

"Faster, Sam. It's gaining on us," Dean urged.

Sam looked ahead of him and saw that the light wasn't coming from a house, but a barn. The sounds behind him were becoming louder and he knew with the speed their attacker had shown, they were quickly going to be outdistanced. In a last burst of speed, Sam sprinted for the barn, praying there wouldn't be any padlocks to slow them down.

As he approached, he could see that the light was dimly shining through an oversized door standing a few inches open. Sam rammed it, throwing it open at a run, grateful when it swung inward on well oiled hinges. Twisting around, he grabbed the door edge and readied himself to close it, waiting only for his brother to clear the opening.

Dean was halfway through when he let out a strangled cry and fell to the ground. Almost immediately, he began to be dragged away from the light, though he was clawing at the ground trying to stop the backwards movement.

Sam couldn't see anything of whatever was trying to drag Dean back into the trees. It was like a shadow hovering over him. Sudden, overwhelming pain crossed Dean's face. He grabbed his leg and tried to curl into himself even as he was being dragged.

Fighting back the pain, Dean looked straight at Sam. "Get inside! Shut the door, Sam! Shut it now!"

* * *

_Righto… More tomorrow. This one's going to be a shorty since I've been called out of town unexpectedly and it wouldn't be nice to leave anyone hanging until I get back. I'm cruel, but not that cruel!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Sounds Like Shadows**

Summary: Hell hath no fury like a (dead) woman scorned… And Sam and Dean just got in her way.

_Goodness… You guys are too generous! Thanks so much for the kind reviews._

Chapter Two

* * *

Faced with Dean's heroics, Sam did the only thing he could. He completely ignored him. Forgetting the door, Sam snatched the handgun out of the duffel bag and bolted toward his brother.

"Give me your hand!"

Dean held out an arm and Sam grabbed it, unceremoniously jerking him back toward the barn. Dean gave an agonized cry as the thing that had hold of him continued pulling in the opposite direction. It looked like the claws or whatever the thing had were stabbing into Dean's thigh.

The tug of war continued and Sam put all of his strength into it, refusing to let the thing drag his brother into the trees. As he continued to pull, Sam saw four long gashes appear running down the back of one thigh, already starting to bleed onto Dean's jeans.

Sam aimed the gun in the general direction of where he thought their attacker was and fired. He immediately felt it release Dean, allowing him to drag his brother the last few feet into the barn. Knowing their lives depended on it, Sam mercilessly threw Dean out of the way before going back to slam the door closed, placing himself against it to hold it shut.

Only a second later, it felt like a battering ram slammed into the door. Sam grunted under the weight of it, ignoring his injured shoulders scraping against the rough wood.

"Dean," Sam shouted, "I need some help here!"

Dean groaned, rolling over where he was still lying on the ground. "What?"

"Something to hold this closed," Sam insisted, "and see if there are any other ways in. Maybe it's just me, but I'm really not in the mood to have my face clawed off."

Dean struggled to his feet and Sam couldn't help noticing blood already sliding down Dean's leg and over his shoes onto the ground. He was limping badly and Sam could also see the tracks stretching across his shoulders that had to match the claw marks across his own.

The door behind him shuddered beneath the weight of another blow. Sam braced his feet fighting to keep the entrance closed, knowing it was only a matter of time before the wood itself gave way.

Sam looked around the barn, trying to find something that might help. It appeared to be well kept, though it was not a large structure. The light was coming from an oversized lantern sitting several feet away from him on a workbench. There was a large pile of loose hay to one side and bales of hay stacked beside it. Stalls ran along the wall on the other side though they appeared empty.

Dean came back into sight, appearing around the tall stack of baled hay. "The door on the other side is padlocked, but I don't know how well it will hold," Dean said, breathing hard and leaning over with his hands braced against his knees. He straightened though and began dragging bales of hay to barricade the door.

It was a little awkward, but Sam managed to hold the door closed while Dean piled two bales against it. Then they hurriedly stacked two more on top of them. The door continued to shudder then the attack abruptly stopped.

"You sure the only other way in is padlocked?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Dean wheezed, once again leaning over with his hands on his knees. "Is there enough salt in the duffel bag to do the doors?"

"You think it'll help?" Sam frowned.

"We don't know what it is yet," Dean answered tiredly, "but it can't hurt."

Dean limped toward the duffel bag that had been thrown to one side of the door and began rummaging through, finally coming up with a large canister of salt. Sam bolted toward him when Dean swayed, leaning heavily against the barn wall to keep himself upright. Sam caught his arm and held him steady.

"S'ok. Just stood up too fast," Dean stated, brushing his hand away.

"Sit down," Sam said anxiously. "I'll take care of it." He dragged another bale of hay over and set it against one of the stall doors to make a bench. He waited for Dean to sit and then made quick work of salting the two entrances.

Walking back he watched as Dean shrugged out of his denim jacket, giving it a disgusted look. "It's a good thing I wasn't wearing my leather coat. I'd have been _pissed_."

"It tried to tear your leg off, man. I'm not really worried about your fashion needs."

"Dude, do you know how long it took me to break that jacket in?" Dean turned appalled eyes to him. "That thing was almost permanently Dad-shaped. It took months, years even, for it to achieve the perfect state of comfort."

"I know," Sam said, holding up a hand to halt the brewing tirade. "Your senior year you spent more time on it than you did on the _car_. If that doesn't say something I don't know what does."

Dean, however, was hardly listening. He was ripping his already shredded jacket, making a strip of cloth to go around his leg to put pressure on the deeper wounds.

"Speaking of which… This thing is ticking me off. It tries to skin us. Fine. It stabs me and tries to drag me off to who knows where. _Fine_. But that thing touched my car! Did you _see_ the dent in the trunk?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded, trying not to smile. "I think it's right up there with the Japanese bombing Pearl Harbor."

Dean savagely tied the makeshift bandage around his leg, hissing at the sudden pain, and Sam's urge to laugh faded. His comparison might have actually been a little too close to true. He knew what the car meant to Dean. It was his tie to their dad. It was freedom to go anywhere he wanted to go, but it was also family and… home, all wrapped up into one sleek, black package.

Dean had never really had much that belonged to him. If it couldn't fit in the trunk, you didn't get to keep it. Sam had made a home for himself with Jess. It was gone now, but he had that memory. Dean had the car. It was his, his traveling home. To damage the car was to attack his brother. It was his fortress of solitude and it was to remain inviolate.

"You never did appreciate that car enough," Dean observed. "It's how I knew you were going to go bad."

"I'm sorry?"

"Dude, you were looking at Volvos when you were fifteen. Anyone who would pick a Volvo over a classic muscle car… That's where evil lives."

"Can we focus here, please," Sam raised an eyebrow. "What was that thing? Wendigo?"

"Don't think so. You saw the way it moved through the car. They're fast, but that was something flying through. More like a ghost."

"It had claws though."

"I'm aware of that," Dean responded dryly. "But it knocked out the car. Ghost or poltergeist, I'm thinking."

"So why didn't it just come in after us?"

Dean frowned. "Dunno."

"So we wait for daylight and then head back to the car?"

"Sounds like a plan."

"What are we supposed to do until then?" Sam demanded.

"Take a nap?" his brother suggested.

"You seriously think you can sleep?" Silly question, Sam thought. Dean could sleep through rabid badgers attacking as long as it was outside a locked and salted hotel room door. If they got through the door, however, he'd wake up and shoot the little suckers before they got within ten feet of him. "Fine," he sighed. "You sleep. I'll watch."

Dean gave an inelegant snort. "What are you complaining about? You'd be awake anyway."

Sam watched Dean work to stand, using the stall door behind him. He wasn't using his injured leg at all and he was carefully protecting the arm that had been caught when the trunk slammed shut. Dean hobbled toward the huge pile of loose hay and dropped into it, making a nest for himself.

"You're supposed to be keeping watch, not watching me," Dean sighed. "Knock it off. Makes me nervous."

Sam realized he had been staring and gave a short laugh. "Sorry, Sleeping Beauty."

Dean closed his eyes and they both fell silent. Almost immediately, they heard a new sound. Sam looked around him and Dean sat up in the hay. "What is that?"

"Sounds like… you know that sound rope makes when it's being stretched?" Dean said, also scanning the barn.

"Rope creaking… like on an old swing," Sam said nodding.

Dean's eyes met Sam's and he knew they were thinking the same thing. Their eyes traveled up to the huge beams running the length of the barn, then farther up into the rafters.

The dead man was hanging, the noose tight around his neck, swaying as if in a gentle breeze.

His eyes opened and he looked straight at Sam. "Cut me down?"

* * *

_More tomorrow... I'm hard at work on it..._


	3. Chapter 3

**Sounds Like Shadows**

_So, I'm thinking the guy in the rafters surprised you a little bit? At least it was more fun than a crazed barn owl attack, which was my other option… But in all seriousness, thanks a bunch for the reviews. Y'all made my day._

Chapter Three

* * *

Dean looked up from where he was half-sitting, half-lying in the hay. "Well, there's something you don't see every day."

Whoever the guy was, he was very, very dead. His neck had been snapped from the sudden fall. Despite that, he was staring longingly down at them from about fifteen feet off the ground, his body gently swaying back and forth, wearing jeans and a standard farmer-type flannel shirt.

"Cut me down?"

"All right. That's _almost_ the freakiest thing I've seen today," Dean observed.

"Almost?" Sam asked in disbelief.

"You've gotta admit this has not been one of our better days," Dean said, still looking up at the body in the rafters. "Do I need to mention the car again?"

"Cut me down?"

"Dude, is he going to keep saying that until we do? Cause it's already getting on my nerves."

"Do you think we even can?" Sam asked, his face horrified as they looked up at the ghost.

"Hey, you feel like crawling up there and giving it a try, be my guest," Dean said. Sam momentarily quit staring up into the rafters to glare at him. "Fine, we could shoot him," Dean offered. "He'd at least dissolve for a while. Is there anything with rock salt in that duffel bag?"

Dean didn't know if it would do any good, but he'd love to take a pot shot at whatever was outside the barn too. If nothing else, it would make him feel better. His forearm was killing him where the trunk had slammed down against it, his leg was throbbing like it might fall off and the scratches across his shoulders weren't feeling much better. Judging from the look of the scratches on his brother's back, they probably both looked like they'd gotten into a fight with Wolverine and lost.

What he wouldn't do to have Marigold with him now, but Dean knew for a fact she was still sitting in the trunk of the car. He didn't like leaving his sawed-off shotgun in the duffel bag. He needed to rig up some sort of holster for her. It might be a little Mad Max, but then he wouldn't be in this mess if she'd been with him. No doubt Sam would never let him live it down, just like he'd never live it down if Sam found out he'd named his shotgun. But Marigold was as reliable as they came and you didn't leave your best girl home on a Saturday night.

"I've got some salt left," Sam said, "but the only gun is loaded with wrought iron."

"Well, that's just perfect," Dean bit out. "We've got a pissed off ghost grizzly something prowling around outside, a dead dude hanging from the roof and everything we need is sitting in the trunk 300 yards away. Water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink."

"Cut me down?"

"Dude, SHUT UP!" Dean shouted, his frustration getting the better of him. "You're a freaking ghost! We can't cut you down!"

"Cut me down?"

"Sam, give me the gun," Dean held out his hand for it. "I'm going to have to shoot him on general principle."

"Dean, calm down," Sam said.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Dean bellowed. "Could this situation get any worse?"

"Cut me down?"

"I said SHUT UP! Get your own freaking self down!"

As they watched, the ghost reached out its arms and grasped the rope above the knot. He pulled himself up, loosening the noose and pulled his head out of it. He then let go of the rope and dropped to the floor, his knees bending deeply as he landed. The man straightened slowly, standing between the two brothers.

Sam backed up against the barn wall. "I think you were saying something about it getting worse?"

"Sam, stay back," Dean ordered. "Where's the salt?"

"I put it back in the bag," Sam answered.

A massive blow shook the barn as something slammed into the wall directly behind Sam. He tumbled forward from the force and landed in a heap on the floor within reaching distance of the ghost. He scooted back on all fours, but halted as the thing outside crashed against the wall again causing the wood to splinter.

"You've got the gun, Sam. Shoot something. I really don't care which one," Dean said hurriedly.

Sam rolled onto his back and shot through the wall just as the wood shuddered beneath another blow. A half-scream, half-snarl filled the night and they both heard heavy steps moving away from the barn.

Sam stood swiftly, backing away from the ghost who was now taking halting steps toward him.

"I just want to leave," the ghost said, his voice echoing up into the rafters. "She won't let me leave."

Sam took one step sideways as if to get out of the ghost's way before a roar sounded outside the barn. Dean saw the wall jolt directly behind Sam. His brother screamed and Dean saw the tips of claws appear through Sam's shoulder.

* * *

_Feel free to blame the length of this chapter on my boss calling me in to work. I certainly do. Let me think… Dean… work…Yeah, I'm gonna go with Dean. This does mean I'll get away a little early and tomorrow's chapter will be longer, honest._


	4. Chapter 4

**Sounds Like Shadows**

_Once again, very sorry the last one was so short. I have appropriately chastised myself for it. --hangs head in shame-- Thank you for your very kind reviews despite its shortitudity._

Chapter Four

* * *

Sam instinctively tried to move forward, away from the claws, but whimpered in agony, unable to free himself as the claws seemed to curl, holding him in place.

The ghost backed away like it understood there was a problem and wanted to distance itself from it. Dean ignored him, snatching up the canister of salt and limping toward Sam as fast as his wounded leg would allow.

The long claws reaching through the barn wall and into Sam's shoulder flickered angrily and Dean was certain they were dealing with a ghost. He wrenched open the top of the canister, poured out a handful and dumped it into the short gap behind Sam. Another roar sounded from the other side of the wall as the claws dissolved. Sam doubled over as he was released and fell to his knees, clutching his shoulder.

"Sammy?" Dean knelt at his brother's side, ignoring the screaming pain in his thigh as the wounds stretched. "You with me?"

"Maybe shooting it wasn't such a great idea," Sam said, gasping and bending over until his forehead rested on the ground. "I think I just ticked it off."

Dean carefully moved toward the holes the claws had left in the boards and peeked out. He could hear the thing prowling back and forth almost like a caged tiger, but he couldn't see anything.

Suddenly remembering the barn actually had another occupant, Dean turned. He scanned the entire structure including looking back up in the rafters, but the man was nowhere to be seen. "Huh. Looks like Mr. Spines-are-optional has left the building."

Dean managed to get to his feet and moved to Sam's other side to grab his brother's uninjured arm. "Come on, Sammy. Let's get you off the floor." He helped him to the bale of hay sitting in front of the stalls. Sam sat down heavily, cradling his injured arm with the other. Dean's leg took the opportunity to tell him it was done for the day and buckled, forcing him to half-sit, half fall to the floor. He too sat back against the stall, hunching forward slightly so his shoulders weren't taking his whole weight.

"What do we do now?" Sam asked through clenched teeth.

"I'm going to go with… Wait 'til morning and hope we don't bleed to death in the meantime."

"Proactive," Sam wheezed.

"That's me," Dean replied. "Of course shooting first and asking questions later just got you skewered."

"It's a ghost?" Sam asked, his face still twisted in pain, looking to where he'd been standing and the holes in the boards the claws had made.

"Salt worked like a charm."

"So what's the connection with the ghost guy in the rafters? There's got to be one."

They both looked up hearing a low rumble as the thing outside made a prowling pass on the other side of the barn to where it had been. It was apparently making a circuit around the building looking for… Them? The dead guy? A way in?

The claustrophobic sense of being stalked by the thing circling outside set his teeth on edge and Dean fought the urge to do something he might regret. To say the least, he was not enjoying being locked up and feeling helpless to do anything about it. If there was one thing he hated, it was feeling useless. When he was injured and couldn't hunt, his dad looked at him like he was so _disappointed_. Just waiting here, he felt… crippled, optionless, _useless_. He needed to get Sam to a doctor and he was stuck sitting here until morning.

"It's ok, Dean," Sam said.

"What?"

"It's ok. Don't worry. We'll take care of it," he added gently.

Dean looked up at his brother from where he was sitting on the floor and frowned at the concern on Sam's face. "Dude, will you stop reading my mind? It gives me the creeps."

"I don't read minds, Dean. You just look like you want to hit something."

Dean gave him a half-smile. "I always want to hit something. I believe my high school guidance counselor labeled me 'excessively aggressive.' I think that was code for 'budding sociopath'."

"You expected her to make her your personal assistant?" Sam raised an eyebrow. "You knocked out her son's two front teeth."

Sam was watching him so intently that Dean fought the urge to fidget. "He needed a lesson in humility."

"You know, you never did tell me why you did that," Sam hinted, not so delicately.

"No, I didn't," Dean replied, purposely keeping his expression closed. "And I don't plan on it."

Sam gave a loud sigh.

"Oh, don't give me the longsuffering sigh thing," Dean said holding up a hand to stop him. "Did I ask you about what happened with Sarah Snodgrass?" Sam paled visibly. "Yeah, that's what I thought," Dean nodded, with a self-satisfied snort. "Did I ask about what happened with Tom Simpson?"

"I explained that!" Sam protested.

"No, you lied! You expected me to believe that load of crap you were shoveling?" Dean cocked his head to one side, looking up at his brother. "Dad might have believed you, but did you honestly think I was that dumb?"

"Dean, I…"

"You…?" Dean leaned forward, as if waiting for an explanation. Sam opened and closed his mouth several times like a landed fish. "Uh huh… That's what I thought. So don't go expecting me to spill my guts just because you think I ought to."

Sam frowned. "But I got the idea… What did he say Dean? What made you so angry?" He was still looking down at him, almost pityingly.

Sam didn't need to know. Sam thought he was the only one who'd had trouble getting through his teen years. He didn't need to know about the times when Dean had barely been holding it together, when he'd been angry and bitter and lost and unable to do anything about it, when mixing killing and homework had become almost more than he could bear. Their dad was always gone and he'd had no one to talk to, even if he'd wanted to. Which he hadn't.

And then that smart-mouthed jackass kid had walked in and said 'Hey, Winchester. I hear your kid brother's a genius. What's it like being an embarrassment to your family?'

That was when Dean had knocked his teeth out. He'd felt much better too. But Sam didn't need to know that.

"Nothing, Sam. He didn't say anything," Dean said, suddenly exhausted.

"Now who's lying?"

Dean laid his head back against the stall, letting his eyes trail up into the rafters. They were still just rafters, no swinging corpses to speak of. No noose.

Hanging was such a bad way to go. Definitely not something he would choose. You hang yourself and your body did all kinds of funky things you'd never like anyone to see. There were better ways, less messy ways, less painful ways even… But it always came back to the same problem. A corpse. Someone had to find it. How could you leave something so ugly and painful for a family member to find? Some things you just didn't do to people you loved.

"Dean?" Sam said quietly.

"Yeah?"

"You can tell me to take a hike, you know. You don't have to tell me."

Dean carefully schooled his expression. He wasn't sure what had shown on his face, but Sam was looking worried now. _Great_. "Sam the Magnanimous has given me permission to keep my thoughts to myself. It's a red letter day."

Red in more ways than one. Dean looked down at his leg and saw a small puddle was forming beneath his injured thigh. Could this night get any freaking worse? Strike that. Of course it could, he thought, furiously retying the torn strip of cloth around his leg.

Both brothers looked up hearing steps coming from the other side of the barn. The man walked out from the far corner carrying something heavy, though his hands appeared empty. He had a length of rope thrown over one shoulder. His neck wasn't broken, but he was mumbling to himself as he walked toward them.

"Never let me go… She'll never let me go…"

"Who won't let you go?" Dean asked, struggling to his feet.

The ghost paid no attention. He stopped in the middle of the barn and Dean realized what the man was carrying. He set up the invisible ladder, trying it for steadiness. He then looked up into the rafters, studying them as he pulled the rope off his shoulder.

"This is going nowhere good," Dean observed. "Any suggestions?"

The ghost continued to ignore them, readjusting the coil of rope over his shoulder and then stepping on a non-existent rung of the ladder.

"Dean, I really don't need to add this to my nightmare repertoire," Sam said, his voice rising.

Both brothers jumped at the near roar outside, followed by the sounds of movement as the thing outside continued to circle the barn.

The ghost turned angry eyes toward the noise. "Leave me alone!" he screamed. "You're dead!"

"Ok, the 'she' who won't let him go? I'm thinking that's her," Dean pointed over his shoulder toward the source of the noise outside.

"Ya think?" Sam said.

The animal/ghost roared again and the man stepped down from the ladder and turned to face the padlocked door. "Stop snarling at me, woman!" he shouted. "This is _my_ barn! You can't come in! I told you! Over. My. Dead. Body!"

"Boy is that a poor choice of words," Dean muttered. They both involuntarily stepped back when something threw itself at the wall of the barn causing the wood to splinter.

"I won't let you take me!" the man screamed. He frantically moved back to his invisible ladder and began scrambling to the top, which was a freaky sight in and of itself, Dean thought. The man snatched at the rope, tying one end of it and throwing the other end high up into the rafters to loop it over. He then grabbed the loose end and with fumbling fingers began fashioning a noose. Not a very good one, Dean observed. Still, it would get the job done.

"Dean, do something," Sam ordered.

"We only have a little salt left, and nothing personal, but I'd just as soon save it for the grizzly chick who tried to skin us. This guy doesn't even know we're here."

"Just leave me alone, woman," the man almost sobbed. He turned his head away from her. "You'll never leave me be."

He put the noose around his neck and snugged it down tight. Again the thing bashed into the barn wall, almost breaking through the wood.

"Good thing we salted the doors," Dean frowned. "She's just going to break a wall down."

"You're dead!" the man screamed, completely frantic. "You're supposed to stay dead!"

Dean saw that the man was about to reach the end of his rope, quite literally in this case. He turned his back and stepped in front of Sam. "Don't look," he said intently.

Sam looked away, pain written across his face and Dean fought the urge to put his arm around him. Sam didn't need to see some things. And Dean wouldn't change that about him for anything. Their father called it weakness. Sam called it being normal. Dean did too, after a fashion. But Dean knew that it was only that Sam still had just that last little bit of innocence left. He'd seen too much and done too much, but he still had that one tiny, little spark of hope that things could be different, that things could be better, kinder, gentler. _Normal_. Something that Dean had lost too many years ago to count if he'd ever had it at all. He would do everything in his power to make sure Sam kept that little spark alive.

They both heard the rope pull tight and the ugly snap of the man's neck breaking. In the same instant, the barn wall gave way under the continued onslaught. Both brothers turned as an enormous tiger, all lithe stripes and sinew, jumped through the hole and sauntered toward them.

The muscles shifted and flickered and the tiger's limbs reformed, rolling up into themselves, and a woman with shocking, orange-red hair took its place. Her eyes traveled from Dean to Sam and then up into the rafters. Dean knew they would not be so lucky with this one. The dead guy might not care if they were there, but she did. And if the expression on her face was anything to go by then she was one angry lady.

"Tsk, tsk, Otis," she said, shaking her head, watching the dead man swing. "You think you can kill me and I'll let you go that easily?"

* * *

_I've been ordered in for overtime again tomorrow, but I am going to do my darndest to get the chapter up before I go in._


	5. Chapter 5

**Sounds Like Shadows**

_Thanks for the lovely reviews and thanks for sticking with me. Almost done..._

Chapter Five

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"He killed her?" Sam whispered. "Maybe we've been worrying about the wrong person?" 

Dean shushed him, not wanting to draw the woman's attention back to them.

"Wake up, Otis," she said in a sing-song voice. "It's your Tiger-Lily."

Dean didn't know if Otis was really dead at this point or just pretending. If he were Otis, he was pretty sure he'd do his best to stay dead.

"Wake up, you bastard!" she screeched and the brothers saw claws starting to spring from her fingers.

Otis' eyes sprang open and he looked down at her in horror. "Lily!"

"How are you feeling, my love?" she smiled up at him.

"Lily, I… I…"

"Yes? What would you like to say to me?" she smiled sweetly. Only the claws belied her sweetness.

"Lily, I… I'm…"

"You're sorry you killed me? It was an accident? You would never hurt me?" Her voice was losing its charm and becoming harsh, almost a growl.

"Lily, please help me down. I… I'm sorry. You know I love you," he sobbed.

"Do you always say how much you love your wife by shooting her?"

"Cut me down?"

"No, love…" she said as if thinking it out, though Dean had the feeling this scene had been played out over and over. "I think I will leave you just where you are."

"Cut me down?"

"Here we go again," Dean sighed. "Whining never gets you anywhere with women, dude." Especially not with a woman whose nickname was 'Tiger-Lily.' And Dean had no doubt that she'd earned the name in life. She might as well have had 'battleaxe' tattooed on her forehead.

"Men," she hissed, still looking up at her husband. "You think you can murder a woman and she won't do a thing about it."

Her eyes left the rafters and settled on Sam. "You know what I mean, don't you, Sam?"

Sam blinked like he was just waking up.

"You think Jess doesn't know that you killed her?"

Sam flinched like he'd been sucker punched. "Don't talk about her," he said angrily.

"She knew you were having bad dreams." The ghost was back to using her sing-song voice. "Remember? She asked you what they were about?"

Dean could tell from the look on his brother's face that he did.

"Remember what you told her?" Sam hunched over, a hand over his heart, almost like he was protecting it. "You said you were worried about your interview coming up…" she looked at him pityingly, "Worried about getting into law school."

"I couldn't tell her," he whispered. "How could I tell her?"

"So worried about being a lawyer, protecting the innocent. Yet you leave the innocent woman who loves you and depends on you in ignorance to die. So worried about doing well in school, keeping her in deadly ignorance so you could be normal. Worried about your grades, your tests when you knew something was wrong." The woman moved closer, her step graceful and lithe, almost cat-like. "You were right though. It _was_ test anxiety. You had one last test, love." Her claws began to extend. "You failed. _Miserably_."

"Stop," Sam held out a hand in front of him as if to physically stop her words.

"You think Jess doesn't know you failed her?" she cooed. "Oh she knows, love. Jess knows. She asked me to make you pay. Make you pay for killing her."

"Lady," Dean said, stepping in front of his brother, blocking him from seeing her. "You are really starting to piss me off. I'm beginning to agree with your husband. I think he shot you just to get you to shut up."

"Ahhh, Dean," she eyed him angrily, though still smiling, "who thinks he can protect a murderer from me, when he is no better himself. You think I won't just kill you first?"

"I was sort of hoping to avoid the death part all together," Dean grinned, matching her smile for smile.

"But you see, you are a killer. Just like your brother. How many times have you killed just to protect yourself… to protect that male ego that shines so brightly," she said, taking another step toward him. "How many women's hearts have you left strewn behind you while you go on your merry way?"

"Lady… I am not about to discuss my personal philosophy on the state of modern womanhood. What I am gonna do, is say that if you come anywhere near my brother, I'm gonna kill you. _Again_. Got it?"

"Oh, Otis tried," she said, sparing a look at her husband still dangling from the rafters. "I believe he said I was too… What was it Otis?"

"I called you a bossy old bag who wouldn't let me be!" Otis screamed. "Now cut me down!"

"Oooook, Otis," Dean rolled his eyes. "Good call. That'll talk her into it."

"Otis," she laughed, "is that any way to talk to your Tiger-Lily? Don't worry. I'll get back to you." She again began stalking toward Dean, who braced himself for an attack.

"You think you can win? No man is my better. You all deserve to be exterminated. Murderers… every last one of you. A woman steps up because her husband is a weak-willed simpleton and what happens?" She raised fiery eyes to her husband. "One day he shoots her and dumps her down the well. He doesn't even have the nerve to stand up to her properly. He has to SHOOT HER WHILE SHE'S SLEEPING," she roared.

Dean hoped like everything that while he was distracting their homicidal tigress of a ghost, Sam was getting hold of some salt. Because even if he couldn't do anything more than throw it at her, that was better than having his face ripped off.

"Men. Cowards… Murderers…" Her eyes came back to rest on Dean.

"I'm sensing a theme here," Dean said, keeping his expression all innocence.

"Killers…" She took another step, bringing her within only a few feet of him.

"With such a lovely specimen as yourself, how could we be anything else?" he held her gaze.

"Your brother won't get to the salt before I kill you," she smiled and Dean mentally swore. "But it was a nice thought. You men… always sticking together. Maybe I'll kill you together," she laughed, almost merrily.

Once again, Dean wished like anything he had Marigold. Now that was a trustworthy female. She might be a shotgun, but she was loyal. And she might be homicidal, but she was far more careful than Crazy Ghost Chick about who she killed. So she wasn't so big on chit chat. A man could appreciate that too at times. If he wanted over-emotional chit chat, he always had Sam.

Without warning, Lily lunged at him, claws spread wide. Dean twisted, instinctively trying to avoid them, but felt the sickening sensation of flesh tearing as the claws tore through his side, creating jagged furrows. Dean fell heavily, already turning to ensure that Sam was out of reach and to see where the ghost had moved to.

Sam was sitting several feet away, salt in hand looking every which way. The ghost, however, was nowhere to be seen.

"Crap! Where'd she go?"

"She just vanished," Sam said, still scanning the barn for any sign of her.

Dean put his hand to his side and it came away sticky with blood. He fought to stand, but his injured leg refused to comply. Dean dragged himself back, until his back bumped the edge of one of the stalls, so at least he wasn't completely out in the open.

Sam started moving toward him. They both heard a snarl and then Sam flew backwards, slamming into the wall of the barn. The wood gave way and he tumbled outside.

"Sam!" Dean shouted. Again he tried to get to his feet and failed. "Sam talk to me!"

Dean felt a sudden pressure on his knees. He was starting to see stars and blinked trying to force them away. Then he swore, realizing it wasn't blood loss. The pressure increased on his knees and the shadows that had been crowding his vision coalesced into the form of Lily straddling his legs.

"He's resting peacefully," she said, her eyes running up and down Dean's body. "He can wait." She brought her hands up to rest against his chest. "We can have a little time to ourselves."

"You're going to have to move a little closer if you want to use me shamelessly," Dean said.

Lily smiled and began to move her hands lower, gliding over his chest. Dean quit breathing as her hand brushed over the claw marks in his side, but she didn't linger, continuing lower.

Dean screamed when she dug her fingers into his injured leg, claws extending into the muscle. Now he really was seeing stars. He couldn't think. His leg felt like she was trying to twist it from his body.

"Not so brave now, are we?" she hissed into his face.

"Otis," Dean yelled. "A little help here! Get yourself down here now!"

"He can't get down," Lily chuckled and Dean could feel her cold breath against his cheek. "He's waiting for me to do it. He has always waited on me to do everything. That's the beauty of his punishment."

She dug her clawed fingers into the wounds again, making Dean bang his head back against the stall to fight the screaming pain. The agony of it saved him, however, from showing his surprise. She didn't know that Otis could free himself. Dean still couldn't see past her, but he listened closely and wanted to weep with relief when he heard the heavy sound of Otis falling to the floor.

The woman must have heard it too, because she released Dean's leg. He had to bite his lip not to whimper at the reprieve. The chick had a wicked grip. He'd give her that.

She turned, but before she could rise, Otis barreled into her, knocking her away from Dean. He could hear them grappling, then as his vision cleared he could see them rolling, fighting for position. Talk about a match made in hell.

Dean heard a different noise and turned to look, though the movement made him dizzy. He saw Sam hauling himself drunkenly through the hole he'd made in the wall on the way out. He still had the canister of salt in his hand. He ripped it open and without any attempt at finesse, unceremoniously dumped the remainder on the couple who evaporated, their shadows fading into nothing.

"Dean?"

He looked up at Sam, who seemed very far away, and not just because Dean was sitting on the floor and Sam was as tall as the Empire State Building. Dean gave him a lopsided grin. "Hey, Sammy. Better late than never."

"You ok?"

Dean, still breathing hard, pointed behind Sam to the hole in the wall. The sun was coming up, the dawn lighting the horizon. It was over. At least for today. "Remind me… not to… marry… a crazy person."

Sam knelt down beside him. "Sure, Dean."

"Course… if not crazy…" His brain felt fuzzy. "Won't have… anything… to do… with me."

"Come on," Sam said and his urgent tone surprised Dean. "We've got to get you up. You need a doctor."

"They gone?"

"Yeah." Sam put a hand under Dean's arm and spent several seconds trying to haul him to his feet, finally getting him upright and then leaned him against the stall so they could both get their breath.

Dean looked around the barn, blinking in the early morning light as his head cleared slightly. He glanced up into the rafters and saw the noose evaporate like a puff of smoke.

He raised a dismayed eyebrow. "Til death do us part, my ass."

* * *

_Hope this worked for you... Just a little chapter tomorrow to tie up the loose ends..._


	6. Chapter 6

**Sounds Like Shadows**

_Well, here it is. Thank you for all the encouraging reviews and thank you to the kind person who told me I had anonymous reviews blocked. I'm sorry if it caused problems for anyone else._

Chapter Six

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Sam helped Dean to lean against the side of the car. It had been a slow painful process to get back to the road. Dean's leg was almost completely useless and grabbing him around the waist had been awkward thanks to the gashes in his side. Sam had yet to see to see the full extent of the damage, but he knew it was ugly. Add to that his own skewered shoulder and the matching claw marks across their backs and offering any sort of support had been difficult.

Still, they had managed through worse.

Sam opened the door and tried to brush the glass out of the seat. Thanks to the surprise trip through the barn wall, Sam's ribs protested as he leaned into the car, but he ignored it. There was nothing he could do about it at the moment.

He got as much glass as he could out of the seat and then stood to help Dean. His brother was exhausted and leaned heavily on him as they moved. Dean was lucky the woman hadn't hit an artery in his leg. She'd done quite enough damage as it was though. How they were supposed to explain this to a doctor, he had no idea. You just didn't get claw marks like that from anything that lived in the Midwest.

Dean sat down heavily and Sam had to help him turn and get his feet into the car.

"M… Gun."

"What?"

"Gun," Dean mumbled. "Need my shotgun."

"It's after sunrise," Sam said, leaning down so he was at eye level with his brother. "You don't need it."

Dean started to struggle to get back out of the car and Sam physically held him down.

"All right, all right. I'll get it," Sam sighed. "But if we get stopped, you're going to be the one explaining it to the cops."

Dean grinned, letting his head fall back against the seat. "Tiger hunting."

"I'm sure they'll love that explanation," Sam rolled his eyes. He got Dean's preferred sawed-off shotgun out of the trunk. Sam grimaced at the size of the dent seen in the daylight and quickly decided not to remind Dean of the damage. Instead, Sam got into the driver's seat and handed the shotgun to his brother.

Dean set it in his lap and sighed as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He patted it like a long lost friend and closed his eyes.

"Sam?"

"Yeah, Dean?"

"Less thinking. More driving."

Sam smiled and started the car, which immediately roared to life. He pulled out onto the road and the air coming through the open windshield was bracing to say the least. He had to drive one handed. His injured shoulder just wouldn't comply with the need to steer.

They would have to come back later and see what they could do about the couple. The woman's body had been dumped down a well, she said. That was going to be a pain to take care of, but they'd worry about that after the doctor and some rest.

"Hey," Dean said, clearing his throat nervously. "What she said about Jess…"

"It's all right, Dean," Sam said simply and meant it. "She… she just surprised me is all." It was like an old wound. Normally, he could deal with it, but she had snuck up on him and gone for the throat. But he knew Jess. The ghost didn't. It was as easy as that.

"I think I just swallowed a bug."

Sam had to laugh, ignoring his bruised ribs. "We'll get the windshield fixed."

"That chick tried to total my car just because she and her husband were fighting about who wore the pants in the family," Dean huffed. "Where's a marriage counselor when you need one?"

Sam surreptitiously looked at his brother, remembering what he'd said in the barn. It might have just been a flippant remark, but with Dean you never knew. "You ever think about getting married?" Sam asked.

Dean half turned his head to look at him, still leaning back against the headrest. "I'm going to need some flowers if that's a proposal. I like petunias."

"Can you be serious?" Sam asked, trying to read the suddenly blank expression on Dean's face.

"What do you want me to say? That I want a nice, cozy house out in the country? Fat, happy kids and a dog named Chester? A wife who'll ask me how my day was, kiss me when it's bad and promise she'll make it all better?"

Sam hardly dared to look at his brother. "Yeah," he said. "Something like that."

"Dreams are dreams, Sammy," Dean said tiredly. "Chester will just have to wait."

"Wait for what?"

His brother didn't answer and Sam knew well enough not to push. Sometimes there were no answers.

Dean cleared his throat. "So where were we before this trip turned into freak-show central?

"Huh?"

"Fine," Dean sighed and shifted in the seat to make himself more comfortable. "New round. MacGyver vs. Indiana Jones."

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_There you have it… As promised, all done before I had to go out of town. Hope it gave you a little chuckle if nothing else. While I'm gone, I'll try to write something new and cross my fingers that you'll like it…_


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